


New Rule for Ferelden

by Extraordinaire



Series: The Path the Maker Sets Before Us [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, F/M, Gen, Read at Own Risk, moved from previous location, too many triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-13 00:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16006868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extraordinaire/pseuds/Extraordinaire
Summary: MOVED FROM PREVIOUS LOCATION. Yes, Ao3 staff knows.New Rule takes us through the events of Dragon Age Origins. Tesslyn Cousland builds up Alistair as the King he needs to be to rule over Ferelden, but in doing so Alistair must break the wills of her shady, selfish, self-harming past to mold her into The Warden and Hero she is destined to be to end the Blight.





	1. Into the Korcari Wilds

**Author's Note:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> No comments please.
> 
> This is my story, my ideas, my fanfiction headcanon. If you don't like it, don't read. You have the choice not to read. Exercise that choice if you dislike someone's stories.
> 
> UPDATE (4/2018) : If you find New Rule and its relationships/approaches to be frustrating (as many do by 16 chapters in), you may want to start with my DA:A story The Warden's Reckoning and work your way backwards. Warden's Reckoning addresses the psychological problems/effects only touched upon in here, because only in WR are the characters at a place in life to address them. If you begin reading and find yourself hating the characters (a common reaction by this story's CH 21), then detour to WR. The frustrating behaviors in New Rule will then make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Moved from previous location. Yes, Ao3 staff knows, they suggested it.

Alistair turned to the woman who’d witnessed his attempt to irritate the mage. His immediate impression was disinterest, blatant refusal to look at him; _what was she doing here, then?_ Apathy wasn't new to Alistair, but for a first encounter, it was. She'd strike him as Tranquil if not for her clenching brow. Resentful. _Probably another messenger,_ though she wasn't dressed like a Chantry Sister or the King’s men.

“Nothing like a Blight to bring us all together, eh?” he joked.

“Indeed. I’m wondering if _Blight_ is merely code for Secret Gentleman’s Club Where Men Can Wear Dresses and Frolic in the Woods Without Lovers Questioning Their Sexuality.” She kept a solemn face.

Alistair couldn’t help a grin. He'd sworn only _he_ made jokes this bad. “No, _Blight_ is the extremely secret password to get _in_ the compound. _Grey Wardens_ is the code for the Gentleman’s Club."

 _Grey Wardens,_ the organization of skilled warriors from all walks of life, destined for responsibility of ending world-threatening Blights. It was the _reward_ for surviving the poison which made Blights so deadly. The Taint connected Grey Wardens to the creatures born of the Blight itself, gruesome ghouls called Darkspawn. Soulless, feral monsters known to eat not only people, but their own kind. Alistair had been a Grey Warden for half a year now. The fact this woman before him made such bad jokes about it all suggested she was a new and nervous recruit.

“You people are too loose with your words, then. Everybody is talking about the Blight.”

“Wow!” he laughed. When she still didn’t crack a smile, he dropped his with an awkward clearing of his throat. “You must be the new recruit?” he guessed.

“I must be?”

“Or… you don’t have to be. But if you are and you don’t want to be, I’m afraid you’re in for trouble.”

“My parents contemplated naming me Trouble.” An unmistakable clench of her jaw and twitch of her eye before she pretended to admire a nearby column.

“Oh?” he mused with a smirk. “And why didn’t they?”

“Too hard to marry off a daughter like Trouble. Can you imagine the wedding invitations? _And the people responsible for Trouble are._..”

“Right.” he smiled. “I can see how that might be tough with the nobles. So, what _did_ they name you?”

“Tesslyn.”

“… what? Tesslyn what?” he pressed, determined to get more than sarcasm from her.

“Cousland.”

“Cousland? You’re a Cousland?” From what Alistair knew, the Couslands were second in power and rank only to King Cailan.

“Perhaps the last.” Her brow narrowed the distance to her eyes.

“The last? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Can we move on?” She frowned deeper.

“Yes, we can.” Alistair stepped in line beside her as she hurried down the walk. “So… have you met the other recruits?”

“Yes. I do not approve.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You know, you don’t see too many Grey Warden women. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because the women are too smart to let themselves be seen," she said.

“Perhaps.” He smirked at his own tease: “But then what does that make you?”

 _“Obviously_ one of the boys.” she answered, bitter and impersonal, despite her aptitude for humor.

“Obviously,” he said, testing how long she would let him flirt. He was disappointed her initial play hadn't carried on.

She shot a disapproving side-glance at him and held shut her mouth. The frown was the most constant thing about her so far.

“Do you really not like it here?” he wondered.

“I didn't _ask_ to be here.”

“I didn’t either, but it’s part of the job.”

 _“I_ didn’t _want_ this job.”

“Well,” Alistair shrugged. “I mean, there are more favorable jobs for sure. But there’s a lot of freedom in what we do. It’s not all darkspawn and saving people.”

Lady Cousland whirled on him. Over a head shorter, yet Alistair leaned away in caution. “I didn’t _ask_ to be. I didn’t _want_ to be here. I _had_ a job, I _had_ a life of freedom. Being a Grey Warden _isn’t freedom._ I _know_ what happens to Grey Wardens. _Don’t sell_ me a life sentence and call it _honey.”_

“Wow, you are almost _too_ much fun!” he didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.

“I’m not here for your reasons, I’m here for mine.”

She didn’t speak again. In fact, as Warden-Commander Duncan gave the instructions to gather vials of Darskpawn blood from the Korcari Wilds, the Cousland Lady stood morose. No, sullen wasn’t strong enough. _Melancholic_. She refused to speak or make eye contact when the other recruits inquired of the dangers in the Wilds. She didn’t even look at Duncan until Alistair led Ser Jory and Daveth - the other recruits - away.

“Are you all right, Tesslyn? If you’re not ready, we can do yours in the morning,” Duncan told her. Alistair stopped to wait, curious, and nosy.

The Lady Cousland turned her head and raised her eyes to Duncan. “I’m well enough to fight. Smiling is not required to do so.”

“This is true.” Duncan hesitated. “Then may the Maker ease your troubles, my Lady.”

She frowned again; this seemed to be a hobby of hers. “There is no remedy for this, Duncan.” A short pause to narrow her eyes, head still cocked toward the Commander. “Yet I remain.” She met his stare with a tense jaw. “You’re _welcome.”_ Then walked past Alistair without acknowledging he waited for her.

Alistair no doubt liked the other recruits better. Daveth was a chipper rogue, glad to be out of a Denerim death sentence and, like Alistair, enjoyed the otherwise carefree life of a Warden. Jory was a by-the-book knight from Redcliffe, recruited by Duncan in Highever two months before Duncan returned for Lady Cousland. Jory, as boring as he was compared to Daveth, was still far better than the moody noble. Alistair had no trouble getting on with both. Daveth bet how many Darkspawn they would each kill before they even left the compound. Jory contemplated the challenges and concerns awaiting them; when possible, play it safe. When Alistair threw his own kill bets, Jory caved.

When they did not quiet after the heavy wooden gates shut behind them, Lady Cousland shot the boys a glance of irritation and quickened her pace. Still wanted nothing to do with them.

_What a surprise._

“Come on,” Alistair told the lads. “Best not keep the Lady waiting,” he joked. To his misfortune, Lady Cousland was _his_ charge. During a Blight, like now, every Warden was needed.  Alistair was _stuck_ with _nanny duty._

And… while all this seriousness was boring, he understood the need for quiet when they were supposed to search for the enemy. Better to find than be found. That’s what the Chantry taught him, anyhow. Alistair wasn’t sure it applied to darkspawn or the Taint, but it seemed a thing Duncan would also advise.

As if on cue, the sound of metal unsheathing from leather rang to their ears, as did the barking of wolves. The three of them sprinted around the cluster of trees blocking their view. Alistair honestly wasn’t sure if he should join the Lady: her arms flung about in a whirlwind, daggers mad and unprejudiced. Could he even get in there without being sliced like supper?

He also realized he didn’t have a choice; she was his charge. Duncan had _specifically_ told him to watch over his charges. He readied his sword and shield and charged, only to arrive in time to find her foot steadying a wolf’s head so she could yank out a stuck dagger. And… that was it. There was nothing left for him to do.

She stood splattered with blood, dirty gray and black wolves littered around her, flooding green with shining red beneath them. She caught her breath as she watched the three men. Green eyes crossed to spy the blood on her hands when she reached up to push her hair off of her face; blood seemed nothing new to her. Lady Cousland ran a thumb over her nose and smeared a red line from cheek to cheek, staring at Jory and Daveth as if calling for reaction. _Fresh warpaint._

She pointed to the wolves with a dagger. “This is why you don’t keep the Lady waiting.” She turned and stepped over the lifeless canines. “Bloody nug-humping daffodils can’t keep your bleedin’ traps shut long enough to _actually stick_ something! _Sodding pair of bloomin’ little girls!”_ She sounded off.

Alistair felt his brows jump near to his hairline. He was amused and interested by this side of the brooding noble woman. _Extremely_ interested.  

“Not much of a Lady if she talks like a pirate,” Jory remarked.

“Not much of a Grey Warden if you left your balls in your tent!” she retorted without pause. Alistair tried to contain a laugh; Daveth didn’t bother hiding it.

“It seems best to follow the Pirate Lady,” Alistair said to the men. Daveth agreed with a giggle.

The Lady Cousland on a sudden ran and dropped to her knees. Alistair had seen enough of these acts to know something was wrong. He ran and slid on his own knees, joining her at a bleeding wounded man in Denerim armor.

“I’ve got bandages,” Alistair offered, opening his medic pouch.

“Don’t touch him!” Lady Cousland ordered.

Alistair looked from her face to her busy hands. She was dumping out most of a vial of blue lyrium potion; it sizzled the grass as it splashed down, leaving an effect of frost crystals.

“What are you doing?” he asked her. “Lyrium won’t help him. He’s not a mage.”

“I could _perform_ this miracle if you would shut up and stay out of my light!” she snapped.

“All right, fine. _You_ can tell King Cailan how he died, then!” Alistair shot back, standing as Jory and Daveth joined them.

“Shut. Up,” she reinforced her demand from earlier.

Lady Cousland stuck what looked like a dried-up deep mushroom in her mouth and chewed it for a moment, only to pull out a wet, slimy glob. She shoved the slimy mushroom in the vial of lyrium and capped it; ferocious fizzing reminded Alistair of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. She gave the bottle a few rough shakes before letting it settle between her knees. And apparently it was a good idea to waste half a bold-red healing poultice.

“Doesn’t he need the red stuff?” Daveth peered over.

“What’s she doing?” Jory asked.

“Trying not to kill you both,” she answered before Alistair could.

“Yes. That.” Alistair said with a flat face and matching tone.

Lady Cousland switched the bottles between her knees and collected blood from the wounded man – from the wound itself – in the fizzing lyrium-mushroom concoction. She capped it with her thumb again and gave it another good shake, then transferred it to the bottle with the remaining health poultice.

She held the small bottle out toward Alistair. “Hold this,” she ordered. She whipped her head up at him with a stern frown. “Do _not_ break it!”

“All right…” Alistair returned to his knees and held the small bottle by the neck. She dug in her pouch once more and retrieved a small bottle of clear amber liquid. Alistair looked at her curiously. “Is that rum?”

“No, you may not have some.”

“I – no.” He couldn’t help his giggle. “I wasn’t going to ask. I was just curious why you have such a small bottle.”

“So I don’t have to share.” She had an answer for everything. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she filled the rest of the strange health poultice-bottle up with the dark rum; then swallowed the rest of the alcohol. Her dagger tore through the soldier’s undershirt, exposing gouged skin. The wounding blade had twisted; an easy way to stop field soldier from reporting in.

Alistair found it curious darkspawn knew how to do that.

“You are lucky,” Lady Cousland told the soldier, so gentle and out of character it made Alistair think someone new had spoken. “It didn’t get past your hide.” This was a tone of voice Alistair hadn’t heard from her yet. She took the tiny bottle from Alistair. “Hold his arms down.” Alistair did as he was told and Lady Cousland let only a single drop fall to the wound. The soldier yelled through his teeth. She looked at the man in sympathy - another new emotion from her - steadying his body at the hip. “You’re one of Cailan’s men, yes? Have you ever met the Queen?” she asked.

“N-not personally. But I saw her around the castle a few times during my training.” The soldier huffed through pain.

“And what did you think of her?”

“She’s – lovely, for sure. The King seems to think she’s a fine lady.”

“Hm.” She smirked. “I think she’s about as pompous as a nug-wrangler’s backside.” Alistair snorted into laughter.

“W-what?” the soldier asked in confusion.

“I grew up around her. She doesn’t even care to dry her own hands. Did you know I once soaked her slippers in fish water and let them out to dry? She had no idea where the stench came from – she feared it was her _private_ parts, _if_ you know what I mean. And you should have seen all the cats! They followed her around _all_ day!” she spun her tale quite animatedly.

This had Alistair laughing so hard he couldn’t hold his head up. While the wounded soldier was occupied with his own laughter, Lady Cousland applied the solution from the vial. Teeth clenched in pain between breathless giggles. Humor was winning, it seemed.

Alistair felt he was seeing a whole new side to this moody noble pirate-mouthed woman.

“There you go.” Lady Cousland stood and helped the soldier to his feet. He pulled apart the hole in his leather armor and undershirt and huffed in disbelief. The wound looked more like a fresh burn scar now.

“How in the name of Andraste did you do that?” Alistair marveled.

“You were right there. You saw everything.” Annoyed once again, but only at Alistair. “You should get back to camp,” she gestured; a gentleness reserved for only the soldier. “If you stay, you’ll only be hacked down again. These clod-heads won’t shut up.”

“We are not like that!” Jory defended.   

“Tell that to the _wolves_ I had to kill back there.” She pointed at the soldier: “You, go get some rest. You two -” she pointed at Jory and Daveth, _"shut up."_ Then marched off. The soldier winced out a _thank you_ to Alistair and limped away.

“Look at all these bodies.” Jory looked around at the dead soldiers on the ground.

“She’s sort of right, you know,” Alistair said. “We should try not to draw attention to ourselves, especially with the Darkspawn as our enemy.” It was bad enough the Spawn would feel them as soon as Alistair sensed them. The forsaken Taint was the worst part of being a Grey Warden.

“What’s the point? If entire patrols of the King’s best couldn’t survive out here…” Jory worried.

“That’s why _I’m_ here. Grey Wardens can _sense_ the Darkspawn. There’s no way they can ambush us, I promise. We’re nowhere near their base. Any we meet out here are only scouts. We _know_ this. Still,” he added, “we shouldn’t try to draw attention. It’s not smart against any enemy.”  

So they pressed on, despite Jory growing more skeptical with each step. Lady Cousland was nowhere to be seen nor were any Darkspawn so far, but they came upon a fallen tree made into a bridge between two small hills. From the tree bridge swayed three dead soldiers, hung by rusty-looking ropes.

The uncomfortable, fiery buzz in Alistair’s veins said darkspawn lingered here. This was no kill-and-run.

Joey nor Daveth seemed to guess darkspawn were near. They were anxious enough, though they grew more so deeper in. Might as well break silence with the comfort of human noise. "Poor sods," Alistair said, "this is what happens when people go into Darkspawn territory without a Grey Warden.” He hoped his voice sounded steady enough to inspire confidence.

“That could be us.” Jory was such a pessimist.

“The only way that will be you is if you don’t shut your whining pie-hole.” The three of them looked up to see Lady Cousland at the root of the tipped-over tree. She pointed across the tree-bridge. “They’re not far, actually. So close I can _smell_ them. I prefer the stench of _horse_ dung by _far-”_

Alistair and Jory shared a cautious, confused eye.

“-Other side of this clever little bridge,” she continued. “Standing in the shade like they can _hide_ from me. _Too fucking cute.”_ She gave the roots a small kick. Lady Cousland waved at something Alistair couldn't see. _“Greetings,_ good fellows!” she called out, as if waving down a traveling merchant. “Your grunted breathing must have made it a tad hard to hear the sniveling, but the idiots are right down here!” She pointed down to Alistair and the other two recruits. “Good day to you!” She bowed to something across the tree-bridge then leapt away in the opposite direction. An arrow flew right where she had been waving from. As she disappeared once more, Alistair, and the recruits drew their weapons and ran around the pond.

They ran to the clearing where the Darkspawn tarried, but a cloud of black fog exploding with shattering glass halted them. The Darkspawn were shrouded in soot. A harmonious chime of slicing metal rang out; sharp metal – not Darkspawn blades, rough and corroded. Heavy thuds echoed around the fog like bodies falling. A woman’s voice scoffed.

 _“What?! Is that her?”_ Daveth cried in disbelief, frowning. As if Lady Cousland had stolen glory right out from under him.

As the fog evaporated, Lady Cousland materialized, ducking to flip a stalky genlock archer. She embraced it from behind, gripping its left arm. With the bow arm occupied, she sneaked a dagger around. A reflection of sunlight before she stabbed it in the gut. The blade twisted and carved a trail up to the chin, armor and skin no longer restraining Tainted innards. The genlock slid down her front as stray wisps of black fog settled to the ground.

Lady Cousland paused to observe Alistair, Jory and Daveth. They stood speechless before her; she glanced like she wasn’t sure why they stared. She gave a slight bow of her head and said, “How do?” then turned and trotted off as if she hadn’t slaughtered a handful of Darkspawn like someone with years of practice in sadistic execution.

“Do you think she’s married?” Daveth asked.

“That is _not_ why we’re here,” Alistair said. “Besides, _I_ saw her _first_.”

 _“I_ did, actually.”

“Well, she likes me better,” Alistair retorted.

“The whole lot of you are idiots.” Lady Cousland was on a sudden walking back to them. She approached Alistair, hard eyes on his, and shoved two stuffed-to-the-brim belt sacks at his chest. “I’m packed up. Do _not_ lose these.” She turned to leave as swift as she had approached.

“You want me to carry your _purses_?” Alistair stood confused.

“Quite accurate!” she called back. “You are wasting daylight!”

“It’s one of my many talents!” he answered, stringing the fist-sized purses onto his belt. “Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” he jogged up to her.

“I’m not interested in talking,” she stated.

“So I’ve concluded. Where did you learn to fight like that?” he ignored her decline.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not? You’re quite impressive!” he praised.

“Thank you for noticing, but I’m still not interested in speaking.”

“Speaking lets enemies know we’re here, right,” he joked about her desire for silence, now trying to annoy her. “But we'll kill them anyway,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but while you’re busy talking, they might sneak up on us, in which case the opportunity to catch an enemy off-guard means there’s no way of preparing for attack, thus no way of defense. Do _you_ want to be the person who instantly dies by a surprise attack? No chance to defend yourself? _Darkspawn_ , of all things?”  

“I… point taken. But they aren’t exactly the silent type. They’re more the _grunting_ types,” he informed her.

“Same could be said of you.” She shot him another glare. _“Do_ shut up. I am in _no_ mood to be your friend. I am here to kill the deformities lurking here because I am good at killing. If you and those _little tulips_ continue to hinder me, I will _conveniently_ forget whose side I’m supposed to be on!” She stared at him with fire blazing behind emerald eyes. She looked lamenting, though, not evil, not heartless. Not angry. Too much pain in the creases of her face.

“I’m not your enemy,” he reminded as gentle as he could. “The others are a little nervous. It’s normal. Considering this is just part of a test, couldn’t we be lenient and let them talk out their fears?” he bargained. “I promise you we won’t be caught off-guard, no matter how much noise we make.”

They stood in silence for a moment, neither breaking eye-contact. Something was off but he couldn’t place what; loss was evident, but what was so bad inside to make her this violent?

“If you’d rather go back to camp, that’s fine. Duncan offered to postpone your Joining to tomorrow,” Alistair reminded her.

“And do what? Wallow there? No.” She turned and set off again. “As long as the lot of you keep your distance I won’t try to kill you. Very often,” she added.

“You are too much fun!” Wait, hadn’t he already said that? Alistair sighed. At least her mood was consistent.

“Lick my bootprints!” she countered.

“Maybe when we’re out of Darkspawn mud,” he called back.

Alistair walked with Jory and Daveth a few paces behind Lady Cousland as she requested, until she disappeared behind a broken mossy arch of stone columns. Just past the arch they spied a Darskpawn camp; crude fences, rigid torches serving as lampposts, a few human heads on pikes. “Where are all the Darkspawn?” Alistair muttered to himself.

“Should I slither over and take a gander?” Daveth offered.

Alistair tried to peer out further from where he stood, but without walking into the open, it seemed useless. “Yes…” At least he had one rogue.

Daveth darted from shadow to shadow, moving without sound, creeping beneath trees, hidden in reeds. So far no movement from the Darkspawn. Was Daveth really so invisible, or were the Darkspawn all sleeping?

Without notice, Daveth made himself seen. “They’re dead! All of them!” he called over. Jory and Alistair exchanged a curious glance and joined Daveth. “Throats slit clean,” Daveth reported. He huffed. “ _So_ , the Noble Lady is an assassin. And she got after _me_ for being a _thief!”_

The Darkspawn indeed had their throats slit. There was no blood other than around where the bodies lie, all strewn about, each with a delicate trickle of blood from an almost invisible slice across the neck. She must have moved in the skill of stealth as well, to take the darkspawn where they stood with no warning.

“It does appear she has assassin skills,” Alistair agreed. “So where might an assassin go?” He looked around.

“To find a killer, just follow the dead bodies!” Daveth quipped.

“That makes perfect sense.” Alistair glanced around, seeking a trail. “Except it looks like they were slain where they stood…”

“Then we scout. Assassins are often fond of poisons, so we look for fresh-picked deathroot stems.”

“Also useful, _but_ \- and I hate to undermine your expertise again - she gave me her purses to hold because they were _full_...”

“We continue our mission without her,” Jory decided.

“Very cute. I’m sure she’d appreciate that, but she is still in our party and we are not leaving without her, one way or the other.” Alistair overruled, a surprising air of authority emanating from his own voice.

“And why shouldn’t we? She’s already left us. She clearly doesn’t need our help. I say we let her do all the dirty work, if that’s what she wants, and we ship off.” Jory was done with Lady Cousland’s _incompetence_ remarks.

“We still need to get those Grey Warden treaties, though, remember? _She_ has no clue where they are but _I_ do. And unfortunately you’re here with _me_ , not her, so you’ve got to come with me to gather them. I’m telling you what I told her: let’s try to be lenient with each other. You’ve all left a lot behind to be here, and none of us truly know what that means to the individual.” _Dammit, he sounded like a leader, didn’t he?_ He hoped Duncan wouldn’t take it as a good sign and ask him to lead more often. “You might as well fill your vials since you’ve got a nice selection to choose from.” he gestured around.

At least something agreed on, though as long as Lady Cousland wasn’t there insulting them, they all seemed to think alike. Jory and Daveth knelt at different hurlocks. Alistair grimaced in amusement while they shopped, remembering his own Joining months ago. He’d been lucky, Duncan already had a stash of preserved blood waiting in Denerim. As revolting as it sounded, these recruits had all the fun. Jory pressed on a Tainted neck instead of tipping the creature for a blood flow and squirted himself in the face. Alistair and Daveth laughed aloud.

“It’s smells horrible!” Jory groaned.

“If you think _that’s_ bad,” Alistair poked fun, “you will _love_ what’s next!”

“I’m sure I will.” Jory wiped the dark, sticky, rancid-smelling blood off his face. It left him a smeared mess. Alistair chuckled again before holding out his handkerchief.

Daveth, out of habit, looted the Tainted corpses. To Alistair’s surprise, the rogue found silvers and coppers, even a sovereign. Daveth declared no one should ever pass up the chance to loot the dead.

“A bit creepy, that,” Alistair commented. “What do you suppose Darkspawn use coin for?” He was curious.

“They’re not very intelligent, right? I reckon they’re like magpies. Attracted to shiny things,” Jory said as if it were fact.

“Or they could have, I don’t know, a whole Darkspawn City. What do you think?” Alistair mused. “I mean, where do they get their armor and weapons from if they’re no smarter than birds? They’re probably got a whole underground market somewhere, with a smith and everything.”

“It’s bound to be an expensive one, if only the Darkspawn can find him and they’ve got to loot _our_ dead just to get coin,” Daveth entertained Alistair’s imagination.

“Both of you seem to have an alarming amount of spare time on your hands, to think that up,” Jory said.

Alistair grinned, Daveth chuckled. These recruits weren’t so bad, Alistair decided. “This sort of thing is natural for Grey Wardens,” Alistair joked. “Nothing else to do once everyone’s drunk around the fire together. You should hear the gryphon stories.”

Once blood was collected and Daveth finished looting, they set off again. A display of impaled heads up the hill betokened another darkspawn outpost; Alistair’s destination lay behind, an ancient weathered tower. They sloshed through the marsh, pushing past reeds and young, flowerless bulrushes. Toads and frogs chirped and Daveth complaining how water in his boots hindered his sneaking ability.

Something felt wrong, though. Alistair felt their approach should at least greet them with dead bodies, though like the camp Daveth looted, this one seemed empty. Lady Cousland still wasn’t in sight or sound. Alistair worried but tried to hide it from the men. He had a feeling he would have to scout for this woman tonight until the tall swamp trees completely blocked the moonlight. A couple dozen paces and _finally_ sounds of battle; and odd thing to ease Alistair’s gut. Combat meant _still alive,_ no dead bodies to collect.

Alistair’s belly flipped. The Darkspawn were indeed fighting, but gathered in a circle all bashing down on something amid; a green fog hung waist-down. _“Oh, no…”_ Alistair feared the worst – he’d have to carry the noblewoman’s body back to camp, if there was anything _left_ to carry back.

On a sudden, something jerked at one of the Lady’s packs from his belt. He looked over, and a hand clamped over his mouth as he opened it to protest.

 _“Shhh!”_ she hushed. Lady Cousland searched Alistair’s eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her breath rapid against his face even from her distance; she was running on pure adrenaline. She released his face and dug a bundle of twigs and a small ball of twine from one of her bags. She shoved the purse back in his hand and unfolded the twigs. Alistair watched inspired as they straightened into two long curves; she’d made a string-less bow. With a jerk of her bow arm, the twigs snapped in place.

“Where did you get that?” Alistair hissed in envy.

“I made it!” she whispered back. She took her thin twine and strung it taut through the ends. “Ten sovereigns, they don’t know I’ve gone until I kill one?” Her eyes glanced from the Darkspawn to her bow as she tied the ends.

“I don’t have ten sovereigns.” He shook his head.

“Three, then.”

“You’re on.”

She stole an arrow from Daveth’s quiver and readied her aim. The arrow flew straight into the back of a hurlock’s head. The circle of Darskpawn halted, all in mid-swing, and watched the wounded hurlock fall.

Alistair muttered a curse. “I was sort of hoping you’d miss,” he admitted.

The Darkspawn looked over as another arrow shot through the side of a genlock’s head. Raucous outrage prefaced a charging Tainted squad.

“Was that really worth three sovereigns?” Alistair complained. But Lady Cousland was already running to meet the monstrosities. Alistair groaned; he did _not_ want to fight a whole pack at once. He readied his shield and sword anyway and ran after her, the footsteps of Jory and Daveth behind him.

Lady Cousland didn’t seem to need help though. With her bow in her left hand, she whipped darkspawn faces, and while they were stunned from the sting of the bow, she cut their throats or stab necks. All of her attacks were quick, none could escape her dagger. After a few slap-and-stabs, she dropped her clever bow and gripped her other dagger. Alistair glanced back in time to see a genlock hit her in the face with the end of its staff; she staggered, stunned, but recovered without aid. She glared, flipped her daggers so the blades aimed up, and lunged in a whirlwind of fury. Daggers whipped astir in a wide berth in front of her, not giving the genlock time to react or defend. Cuts were undefined from where Alistair was, but gooey blackened blood seeped out in wide ribbons. Lady Cousland put the creature out of its misery by shoving a dagger in its mouth, then kicked the blunt of the hilt, sending the blade through the skull to pin it to the ground. Without hesitation she retrieved her dagger and wheeled on the hurlock attacking Jory. She stuck both daggers in the back, one at the shoulder, the other at the top of the spine, carving down and across, slicing through armor like cloth. The hurlock screamed, reaching for its back as if trying to pat out flames. She spun it by the shoulders, stabbed it center face, and moved on to Alistair’s hurlock. Alistair had to halt his own attack because she obstructed him. Beneath the hurlock’s arms she stopped, pivotin her own arm diagonally back sending her short blade straight into its neck. Again without pause she turned to level her twisted arm, shoving the other dagger through the hurlock’s head; the blade sparked when she jerked it back out of the helmet.

Upon the two hurlocks and genlock attacking Jory and Daveth, Lady Cousland for once hesitated. Her eyes swarmed all over the three creatures. She stopped Alistair from joining the fight by shoving her daggers flat against his chest – _a silent command to hold her weapons._ She sprinted kicked in the knee of a hurlock wielding a double-edged axe. It toppled her way as its leg lost hold of the ground. Lady Cousland caught the weapon, stomped on the fallen hurlock’s face, and without warning again swung the battleaxe sideways with even greater control than she’d already exercised. It sliced clean though the remaining genlock’s middle; Daveth almost didn’t dodge her swing in time.

Alistair well knew he and the male recruits all just stood watching. This noble Lady – a normal-looking woman, not bearing muscle like Alistair or Jory – was slaughtering barbarous enemies like she might slice bread. They watched her hold the battleaxe as a wallop mallet; she even made the swing look effortless, though Alistair had plenty experience with such weapons to know that wasn’t the case. The axe met the last Darkspawn in the crotch but stuck at the hip. The look about the recruits said no one blamed the hurlock for shrieking the way it did.

The axe could not be freed; Lady Cousland dropped the handle, unbalancing the hurlock. It tipped at an awkward angle, at the mercy of the blade it was cragfast on. The distressed hurlock in an unfortunate bow, already glutted with injuries to bleed out from, wasn’t dying fast enough for Lady Cousland. She grabbed a crude sword and brought it down across the neck execution-style. The head bounced and rolled by Jory’s feet; Jory rolled it away the tip of his sword.

Again, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary, Lady Cousland dropped the weapon and walked away.

*** _NSFW***_

 _Alistair and Tesslyn Cousland when they meet at Ostagar_ **_:_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by me.


	2. Witch of the Wilds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.

“Is this what’s left of your tower?” Lady Cousland asked with an insouciant gesture, as if she hadn't just destroyed an entire pack of Darkspawn almost alone.

“Whoa, whoa – hey! Wait a bit! Can we talk about this?” Alistair caught up to her as she headed toward the colosseum.

“Are you married? Will you marry me?” Daveth, too, jogged up to meet her.

“Do you, also, want your wanker in two-halves?” she asked.

“Er,” Daveth hesitated. “No. I suppose rejection is in my favor, in this case,” and he hung back.

“You do realize you slaughtered six very large Darkspawn all by yourself?” Alistair asked her.

“That’s not true. Three of them were short. Is that your cache?” She pointed, but he ignored her.

“One of those short ones was a powerful mage,” he tried to prompt her. “And…is that your signature, or something? Stabbing and dragging the blade?”

He wished she hadn’t looked at him. She still bore the expression of someone heightened from battle, pupils dilated, the veins at her temples bulging.  “Would you like to find out?” Her voice was harsh and unwelcoming.

“Er…no. Thanks, though,” he said, trying to mask his uneasiness with sarcasm.

“Then all of you stop talking to me!” she commanded. “I am not here to be anyone’s friend!” She took a few firm steps ahead of him, then froze. She stared at something beyond her position.

A wild-looking woman in an immodest top walked down the ramp ahead of them. “Well, well,” the woman’s voice screamed of curiosity. “What do we have here? Scavengers? Come to pick off what’s left of old bones?”

Alistair was very aware of Lady Cousland’s reaction to this mysterious woman. The noble’s green eyes almost sparkled, moving all over the woman’s physique. She was still, her breath even, her very aura rhyming with the pace this Wilder woman stepped. Calmer than Alistair had yet seen of her. She seemed to be soaking in the woman’s appearance. Lady Cousland was without a doubt enthralled by this new presence.

Sweet Maker! Did she prefer women?  _ That explains a lot, actually _ , his thoughts concluded. Her whole attitude toward himself, Jory and Daveth had been impatient and unwilling. He resisted the urge to pinch his own face when he began picturing the two women closing in on each other.  _ His _ pulse was starting to race, now. _ Andraste’s Light, he needed away from these females! _ He prayed he would not embarrass himself with his ridiculous fixation.

“I have been watching since your arrival. A woman needing no man's support, yet you remain with fools,” the mysterious woman spoke to Lady Cousland. “Come now - who are you and what is your intent here? I shall offer my name if you give yours.”

As if obeying a master’s command, Lady Cousland acquiesced devoid of pause. “Tesslyn Cousland at your service, fair lady. I am half-certain our quest brings us to your chest.”

“To her – her chest?” Daveth stammered, inadequate at hiding his own fascination with the mysterious woman. Perhaps he, too, picked up on Lady Cousland’s eager gaze.

The Wilder woman smirked. “Well, now. Tis a proper greeting indeed, so  _ civil _ for the  _ Wilds _ . You may call me Morrigan.”

“And what of these idiots? What shall they call you?” Lady Cousland asked, her eyes not leaving Morrigan even to blink.

Morrigan hummed in amusement. “Something polite,” she played along.

Lady Cousland turned her head with a glare. “I hope you heard that, _ Chest-Seeker,” _ she told Daveth.

“We shouldn’t trust her,” Alistair said. If he wa honest, he was trying to cover up that slight twinge of jealousy inside of him, the one that said a woman like her should be so stricken by the sight of  _ him _ , not some woman. But not a chance he’d admit it out loud.

A part of him also wondered if magic was at work, or demon-dabbling. Were they all so a sudden in lust?

“I agree,” Jory chimed in. “I've heard tales of witches in these parts."

“She looks Chasind, or worse. She won't be alone," Alistair predicted

“Oh! You fear barbarians will  _ swoop  _ down upon you, do you?” Morrigan taunted with a flap of her arms.

“Yes.” Alistair glared at her.  _ “Swooping _ is  _ bad _ .”

Lady Cousland went stiff for a moment, then her head turned in choppy notches toward Alistair. She looked at him in great wonder; the kindest expression she’d given him since they’d met. Her head returned facing forward. “Swooping…  _ swooping _ …  _ swoo-ping,” _ she was trying to mimic him. She looked almost baffled.

He couldn’t believe this.  _ This _ is what interested her about him? “Swooping,” he offered, stepping forward until he was at her side.

“… swooping… swoo- _ ping _ …  _ swoo _ -ping…” Lady Cousland practiced next to him. Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Listen,  _ Morrigan, _ ” he said. “We need those Grey Warden documents in that chest. I’m  _ assuming  _ that's the correct chest, anyway, since there are no others around.”

“I don’t know about that,” Daveth drawled with a smirk, “there seems to be more than one chest around here.”

_ “Oh, Maker!” _ Alistair muttered.  _ This was ridiculous!  _ “Just give us the documents,” he told Morrigan.

“I will not,” Morrigan told him.

“What? Those documents are Grey Warden property! I demand that you hand them over, you… sneaky… witch-thief!” Even he was aware how ludicrous that sounded.

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan mocked. “Twas not I who removed them, so tis not I who can hand them over.”

“May I ask who did remove them?”

“Oh, welcome back,” Alistair told Lady Cousland, his voice thick with satire. She gave the side of his leg a sharp kick without flinching a muscle in her face; Alistair hissed at her.

“My mother is in possession of the documents you seek,” Morrigan informed them.

“Then will you take us to her?” Lady Cousland asked.

“You seem far more sensible than these men. I like you.” Morrigan gave a sly smile. Daveth scoffed behind Alistair.

“Yeah, right,” Alistair muttered. “I wouldn't believe her if I were you. First, it’s  _ I like you - _ ” he said in falsetto, “and then,  _ ZAP!  _ Frog time.”

“I  _ like _ frogs,” Lady Cousland replied to Alistair.

“Great.” Even his voice fell flat.

“If you are willing, Lady Morrigan, please take us to your mother?” Lady Cousland requested, kind and gentle a ever.

“As you wish. Follow me.” Morrigan walked by them and wound around the side of the crumbled remains of the old Grey Warden fort.

“Are you sure it’s safe to follow her?” Alistair asked Lady Cousland, walking beside her anyway. Morrigan led from pace ahead.

“Oh, yes. If all else fails, we shall just  _ swoop _ down upon her!” Lady Cousland raised her arms like Morrigan had, mimicking Alistair's  _ swoop _ well.

“I’m almost positive you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” he teased, sounding more judgmental than he felt.

“You are testing many waters, boy.”

“Well, that’s hardly fair, now, is it? You never even gave me fair warning.” He surprised himself; the flirt just flew out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned that one.

Following this Morrigan character led them deeper into the swamp. Gloomy, muddy, mossy, slosh with little dry land to step on. Jory and Daveth were behind Alistair twittering the possibilities of Morrigan being a witch and what she might do to them, even going as far as Lady Cousland knew which was why she was being nice, to gain them favor.

Alistair looked at Lady Cousland to check her reaction, but she paid no attention to the recruits. He glanced up at Morrigan, then back at the noble at his side. “So,” he said.

_ “Yes?” _ She sighed when he hesitated.

“ _ Do  _ you want to…  _ swoop _ down on her?” He dreaded the pain he predicted would follow his tease in the immediate future.

Lady Cousland reached over and shoved him, and Alistair almost fell into the swamp water. He couldn’t help laughing, though, waving his arms to regain balance. She, however, had stronger resolve.

“Not even a smile for that one?” He chuckled. “And here I thought that was pretty good.”

“Quite a personal question to ask a Lady, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re offended.” He huffed out one last laugh. “You curse up storms like pirates caught… pirating.”

Her eyes shifted his way.

“The witch did say I have eloquence,” he joked.

“Please stop talking,” she requested. “I have already insisted I do not wish to be your friend.”

“You really should rethink that. In a few hours, you may be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“It’s not polite to throw around threats when your opponent subsides.”

He laughed at the irony. “I clearly recall you threatening me earlier. You said you would  _ conveniently  _ forget whose side you’re supposed to be on.” He enjoyed the banter, though.

“That was before I saved your hides a few times over.”

“Right. I  _ really  _ pressured you to do that. How old are you?” He changed the subject.

She sighed. “I am serious. I do not wish to talk at all. Least of all to a boy who’s toying with chance because he feels threatened by the presence of a woman, of all things.”

“Are – are you accusing me of being jealous? Of her?” He gave a nod toward Morrigan.

“I am. Now please desist your tongue.”

“All right, fine. Just know that I can be quite charming when I really want to. I’ll get you to talk, eventually.”

“I will kill you first.”

“I’m pretty sure you would have already. You were fairly upset with me, earlier.”

She turned her head to glare at him, and he held his hands up. “I’m shutting up!” He agreed. Alistair walked in silence with her the rest of the way .

He didn’t like the looks of the area Morrigan led them to. An old wooden shack leaning upon an old wooden high-rise that seemed to also support an old, broken stone windmill. The land past the shack, more elevated than the rest of the swamp, looked dry enough. But they were still surrounded by the swamp water - Maker knew how deep - should they need to make a hasty exit. Cut off sight and sound from anyone at Ostagar.

“If ever there was a witchy place, this is it,” Alistair decided.

Lady Cousland shook her head. “It’s missing a bonfire, a large cauldron and thirteen naked gypsies adorned in a hundred beaded necklaces dancing to drums played by sculpted men in chains,” she said without a blink of hesitation, as if she knew what a witchy place ought to look like.

He smirked, more amused in his head than he allowed his face to show. She could be cold at times, but also quite funny. All it took was a bit of warming up. He leaning toward favoring her, instead of his initial impatience with her attitude. “When we get back to camp, you have got to tell me how you know this.”

“Not a chance. It’s something you’d have to see to understand, and I doubt the Revered Mothers will let me gather the women on site to get naked and dance with.” She was almost too witty for him to handle.

“I think you should try anyway.” He smirked harder when she side-glanced him again.

An old woman exited the crooked cottage door.

“We have visitors, mother,” Morrigan announced.

“I can see that, girl!” The old woman snapped.

Lady Cousland tensed up beside Alistair. Her warmth withdrew and brows reached towards the sky.

“So, this stranger comes to my home and disapproves of how I talk to my own daughter?” The old lady cackled.

Lady Cousland frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, I do.”

Alistair was curious to see if she would actually do anything to this old woman. The old woman herself was curious, and cause for caution, given how mysterious Morrigan already was.

“They are  _ Grey Wardens, _ mother,” Morrigan interceded.

“Ah. Then you’re looking for your documents. I wondered how long it would take you to show up.”

“Wait,” Alistair cut off Lady Cousland as soon as she opened her mouth, expecting her to resist. He took a step forward. “You were  _ expecting  _ us to come for them? Why?”

“You need these Treaties.” The old lady let out a laugh. “Grey Wardens are the only ones who can stop a Blight, yes?”

“So why take them if you knew we needed them?” Alistair asked. 

She laughed again. “Would you rather I left them there? That place was overrun by Darkspawn! I daresay they wouldn’t have survived in a Darkspawn camp for very long. If the Blight remains unchecked because these Treaties got destroyed, that doesn’t help me any.” Suspicious, since no one but Grey Wardens believed this was a true Blight. She still hadn’t answered his query.

“You protected them?  _ Why?”  _

“Of course I did! I have no interest in dying, either! Morrigan, fetch the papers for these Grey Wardens.”

“ _ Please _ .”

Everyone stared at Lady Cousland. Alistair had never imagined such a kind word could ever sound so cruel and empty.

_ “Don’t make her mad! _ She might be a witch, too!” Daveth hissed.

“Witches do not bother me.” Lady Cousland stared hard without blinking. “My blades are sharper and my reflexes quicker than any spell. What  _ irritates  _ me is that, on top of  _ everything else _ I’ve had to deal with this past month, including the idiots I’m forced to be  _ here  _ with -”

She meant… Alistair. Not only the recruits. Alistair felt a pang. He’d thought they were making progress as a team. She really thought he was an idiot?

“- now I’ve got this old hag who stole important documents and treats the  _ single  _ helpful person I’ve come across - ostensibly her daughter - like a three-sovereign elven slave boy sold merely for his pretty face and taut rump!” She glared hard at the old woman, her jaw and lips tight.

Alistair didn’t know how he should intervene. Duncan wouldn’t approve of Lady Cousland acting like this at all.

The moody noble lady shifted her gaze to Morrigan, who was frozen at the door with her hand on the knob. It seemed Morrigan had never seen someone talk to her mother like Lady Cousland just had. “If it’s no trouble, Lady Morrigan, I ask you to please retrieve the documents we seek.” The gentleness shocked Alistair. This Lady could change her demeanor from menacing to tender in the blink of an eye. She had quite a bit of control inside of her, and was used to getting her way, it appeared.

The old woman scoffed when Morrigan agreed to Lady Cousland’s favor and disappeared inside the shack. Neither the crone or Lady Cousland seemed to be intimidated by the other.

“Er,” Alistair sought something quick to say, to try to divert the tension. “Who are you, exactly? Besides Morrigan’s mother?”

“I go by many names,” the old woman answered him. Despite Lady Cousland’s best attempt to unravel her, the old woman’s voice and posture remained steady. “I have been called Child-Stealer, Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth -”

“Asha-bellanar,” Lady Cousland continued for her, still glaring. “The Demon Goddess, the Dragon Witch, the Shape-shifter. Even  _ more  _ of a reason not to trust you.”

“Someone has been keeping up with her studies,” Flemeth smirked.

_ “Don’t toy _ with me, demon.” She was almost smoking.

Flemeth only laughed, though. “And how would you know if you were being toyed with at all?”

“Wait.  _ The _ Flemeth? From the stories?” Alistair tried to ignore his moody recruit. He’d always wondered how stories from so long ago stayed fresh. Even more intriguing if this crone claimed to be  _ The  _ Flemeth.

Flemeth laughed. “That depends on which story you want to believe.”

He, too, laughed. “This?” He gestured to Flemeth and glanced at Lady Cousland. “This is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Amusement got the best of him. The stories were ancient. Morrigan’s mother was old, but not  _ ancient.  _ Alistair also had a hard time picturing old women as once young and attractive.

“Well! I’m glad  _ one  _ of us is in a good mood!” Flemeth was just as sarcastic as Lady Cousland, though. “You keep sour company, boy.”

“I -” Alistair didn’t know how to respond to that without disrespecting Lady Cousland, which didn’t seem wise considering her skill with a blade. He looked at his female recruit, hesitating.

Lady Cousland rolled her eyes at him and unfolded her arms. “I am  _ so _ sick of  _ everyone _ !” she muttered. “Collect your documents yourself.” She ripped her pouches from Alistair’s belt.

“Ow!  _ Hey!” _ he protested under her sharp tug. He watched her step away. “Are you really leaving?”

“Does it  _ look  _ like I’m still there?” she snapped.

Morrigan stepped out only to stare at Lady Cousland in disbelief. She scoffed and threw up her arms.  _ “Truly! _ After such fuss, she walks away?" She scolded herself.  _ "Is it worth it to speak to her, _ I wondered. Apparently Grey Wardens are no better than villagers!"

Alistair groaned as Flemeth retorted, toning her out best he could without pushing his luck. When he looked over, his charge had wandered from sight. Again.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Repeat: No comments please.
> 
> If you did not like this, remember the choice to read was yours.


End file.
